


The World's Great Optimist

by levendis



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Robots, Tea, snacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9090454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levendis/pseuds/levendis
Summary: Nardole and the Doctor at the end of the night on Darillium, and after. Also that bit right in between. Mild spoilers for "The Return of Doctor Mysterioso".





	

The sky was a cold blue, like it was every day now. Lighter towards the horizon. Pre-dawn, and just about bedtime. Not that Nardole was all that sleepy - two naps in a day will do that to you.

“Have you decided?”

Nardole started; he hadn’t heard the Doctor walk up, and he couldn’t see anything less than three feet away from him. Turned the radar off ages ago, since it seemed to bother people, being able to know where they were at all times. He edged back as delicately as he could, hoping he wasn’t running the Doctor over.

The Doctor, thankfully unharmed, was leaning against the railing, staring out towards where the sun would later rise.

“Hullo,” Nardole said.

The Doctor smiled thinly and raised his glass. “Evening.”

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t-”

“Have you _decided_ ,” the Doctor interrupted.

“I told you already.” Nardole activated the ‘duh’ subroutine, metal shoulders vibrating slightly.

“Ramone’s got a variety of quick-swap units in the mail. Based on celebrities, apparently. You could have whatever you wanted. You could be a, I dunno. A dragon.”

“I know. And, thanks. I appreciate your investment in this. But I just want to be me.” He shrugged, motors whirring. “I liked being me.”

The Doctor huffed through his nose: something dimly related to a laugh, maybe. Twirled the glass around in his fingers, staring at it like it meant something. “I think I might actually miss you, Nardole.”

“I’ll always be in your hearts, boss.” Nardole moved his hand as close to where his heart wasn’t (since robots don’t have those) as he could - which wasn’t very.

The Doctor made that maybe-laugh noise again. “Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass against Nardole’s chest and downing the rest of the scotch. “Til tomorrow, then.”

“G'night,” Nardole said, and turned back towards where the sun hadn’t risen yet.

  


  


* * *

“You look happy,” River said. “You always look happy, but now you look…you look good.” She smiled and then swallowed hard when the smile threatened to turn into something else.

“Thanks, ma'am.”

“How are you always so happy, anyway? I mean, I fake it with the best of them-” Demonstrating with a quick turn away from impending waterworks and into a casual, friendly cheer. “But you, you’re genuine.”

He shrugged, enjoying how nice it felt to shrug with regular shoulders, even if he bollocked it up halfway through and wound up just sort of wiggling. “Easier than being sad, and I’ve always been a little bit lazy, ma'am.”

“God, I wish I believed you.” She sighed, and smiled, and patted him on the head. “You’re a good man, Nardole.”

“Thanks, ma'am,” he said again, and raised where his eyebrows weren’t as she put her hand to her mouth, holding back an odd sort of noise, and left swiftly.

“Something I said?” Nardole asked the empty room. It wasn’t, of course, but it was nice sometimes to think something was your fault, because that meant it was something you could fix, instead of just something that just was.

But it’d always been coming. This moment had always existed. He stretched, examining the length of his new/old legs. Seemed a bit shorter than he remembered.

  


  


* * *

They went on vacation, those last few days. To the beach, they said. Nardole played a significant amount of digital cricket and experimented with how much fruit he could eat before he started feeling uncomfortable.

The Doctor came back alone.

  


  


* * *

The TARDIS had a lock but it tended to open if you asked nicely, so Nardole didn’t consider it much of a lock, not in a 'keep out’ sort of way. Just a 'if there’s a draft the door won’t start banging all about’ sense.

He asked nicely and the door opened and he took his picnic basket and thermos of tea into the console room, sitting down on one of the benches and waiting patiently.

It took over an hour before the Doctor noticed him.

“How long,” the Doctor said quietly, wiping his eyes. “Have you been here.”

“Hour and a half, approximately.”

“You can’t come with me, right, okay, I’m sorry but you-”

“It’s just I’ve already come. We’re in the vortex.” He slightly over-pronounced the word 'vortex’, just to be mildly annoying. The Doctor predictably rolled his eyes.

“I’ll drop you off. Nearest space-station or technically-inhabitable planet.” The Doctor whirled around, back towards the console, to execute a probably random set of button-presses.

“No, you won’t.”

“Sorry?” The Doctor didn’t turn around, but tensed up noticeably.

“We’ve got a friend in common. You need someone who remembers with you, I think. And besides. I brought tea.” Nardole held up the thermos.

The Doctor turned, then, slowly, hands braced against the console. Nardole wiggled the thermos in what he hoped was an enticing manner.

“Fine,” the Doctor said, after an extended awkward silence. “I’ll go find some mugs.”

  


  


* * *

They found a nice planet out in the middle of nowhere. Some sort of evil whatsit operating in the highest reaches of the government to keep the Doctor entertained, and a bustling street market for Nardole.

He bought a festive hat and what looked like an extremely large apple, and then found a park with benches and a wide variety of birds. He settled in, walkie-talkie tuned to the sonic screwdriver’s frequency, and listened. Tasted more like an orange, this thing; sour but enjoyable enough. Bit difficult to bite into, but all experiences have their flaws; at the exact right angle, he could sort of scrape off bits with his teeth.

The first sign of slightly too much trouble, he materialized the TARDIS around the Doctor, and then around himself, waving goodbye to the flock of bright-orange birds gathered around his feet.

“How,” the Doctor gasped out, trying to catch his breath.

“Still enough digital bits in me to talk to the old girl,” Nardole said, patting the console affectionately.

“Right. Okay.”

“You’re welcome,” Nardole said from behind his gigantic apple-thing.

The Doctor rolled his eyes, and paused, and then said: “You can come with me. Next time. If you want.”

“Maybe,” Nardole said. “You enjoy doing terrifying things. I’m kind of a coward. No offense.” He gestured at his apple-orange thing, like 'want some?’

The Doctor shook his head.

“More for me, then.” Nardole grinned, disguising a certain exhaustion at having to continue eating the universe’s biggest fruit, alone. Everyone’s got their mountain to climb, though. He’d pull through, sure enough.

  


  


* * *

The same bright lights as always on the TARDIS but it was nearly bedtime, probably. Nardole was in pajamas regardless.

 _Something’s wrong_ , the ship said, and the remnants of circuitry in him listened. He extricated himself from the pile of pillows and Hula Hoops, paused the documentary on the wildlife of Metebelis II, and wandered through the corridors.

  


He found the Doctor in the secondary control-room, red-eyed and slumped against the wall. Nardole tucked his road-snacks into his pocket.

“It’s not just her,” the Doctor said hoarsely, dispensing with the usual opening pleasantries. “It’s all of them. It’s doing this, over and over and over. I’m just.”

Nardole waited.

“I’m so fucking tired.”

“I know.”

They watched each other, the Doctor warily and Nardole a kind sort of curious. The silence stretched on.   


“Things end,” Nardole said cautiously, finally. “They always do. We enjoy them while we can, and then we keep going. We remember the past, and who we lost, but. We keep going. We have to. Can’t live in the past, tempting as it might be.”

The Doctor did that half-laugh snort thing. Could probably keep some sort of time, measuring out how often he made that noise.

“I’ve got snacks and TV. And lots of cozy blankets. You could come with me, if you want.” Nardole fidgeted briefly, then turned and left.

The Doctor followed him, after a respectable delay.

  


  


* * *

They went to Earth because Earth was where the Doctor always went. There was an alien invasion for the Doctor and nothing at all for Nardole, but he shouldn’t complain. The Doctor was working through some things, and what was a near-death experience between friends.

Although they would definitely sit down at some point and talk about the Doctor’s self-destructive tendencies and his willingness to treat crossed fingers as a valid plan. Not right now, though.

“Going for the rakish, disheveled look, eh?” Nardole puttered around the console collecting an assortment of discarded tea cups, managing to drop only two before depositing the rest into the chute that lead Somewhere. “More than usual, I mean.”

The Doctor snapped out of wherever it was he went when he made that face. “What?”

Nardole gestured broadly at his own neck, pantomiming undoing a button.

“Oh.” He fiddled with his collar, straightening it only slightly. “It was feeling a little tight.”

Making a small noise that he hoped would be interpreted as meaning 'a small but non-zero amount of sympathy’, Nardole approached the Doctor the way one might approach, for example, a wounded swan. He grasped the Doctor’s shoulder gently. The Doctor stared down at Nardole’s hand with deep suspicion.

“I know how it is,” Nardole said softly. “Happens to me as well, this time of year. It’s all a bit too much, isn’t it.”

The Doctor sighed, relaxing a small but non-zero amount under Nardole’s large, well-moisturized hand.

“The trick,” Nardole continued, “is to cut back on the biscuits. Or just get larger clothing, that’s what I usually do.”

The Doctor squirmed out from Nardole’s charitable gesture, glaring intently. “I didn’t mean _literally_. It was a metaphor.”

“Oh. Sorry. Right you are.” Nardole squinted, processing the information. “Metaphor for what?”

“The occasionally overwhelming claustrophobia of being 'The Doctor’,” the Doctor said, in a light and jaunty tone.

Nardole didn’t know how to parse that. Thankfully, the Doctor chose this moment to flee the conversation, turning his attention to the fact that they were apparently landing somewhere. Hopefully a planet not under alien attack. It was a dim but still firmly-held hope.

“Thanks,” the Doctor mumbled, pulling a face like it hurt to say.

“For implying you’ve put on weight? Because you haven’t, I don’t think. A bit, maybe, but-”

“Oh, for -” The Doctor closed his eyes and breathed deeply, evidently counting to ten. Or whatever numbers Time Lord brains counted to. “Thank you for. Being, um. You know.”

“Don’t mention it, Boss,” Nardole replied warmly. “I’ll go put the kettle on, yeah?”

The Doctor nodded, and Nardole headed off to wherever it was he’d left the kettle and tea and source of water and electric/etc heating implements.

“And bring some biscuits, please,” the Doctor yelled.

“It’s like he doesn’t even know me,” Nardole muttered, heading off into the corridors. “Like we just met. The nerve of the man.” He patted his pockets, where the Hobnobs were, and let the TARDIS light the way to the kitchen.


End file.
